


come on, baby blue

by mansgotalimit



Category: Oasis (Band), Real Person Fiction
Genre: ...sort of, M/M, Reunions, i'm not one to miss an opportunity to shoehorn it in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:41:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26430559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mansgotalimit/pseuds/mansgotalimit
Summary: “Y’know, I read somewhere that you should fall in love with someone’s eyes because no matter how much they age, right, their eyes never change,” Liam says suddenly, into the content, post-coital silence of the room.
Relationships: Liam Gallagher/Noel Gallagher
Comments: 2
Kudos: 48





	come on, baby blue

**Author's Note:**

> i need it to be known that although most of my fics are 5k+ i usually write them all in the space of 5 hours sometimes at a push spread across maybe 2 days. this one? under 1k and took me 3 weeks. maybe ao3 makes points when it tells me brevity is the soul of wit. anyway of course the immeasurably wonderful [OnTheWrongSideOfTheBed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnTheWrongSideOfTheBed/pseuds/OnTheWrongSideOfTheBed) firstly chivvied me along with this and also read it over so as ever i and this fic owe you everything xo

They’re in a hotel room for the first time in eleven fucking years, sheets rumpled, clothes pooled on the floor, the familiar scent of sex in the air mingling with the incredibly unfamiliar sensation of serenity and peace that’s pervading the room. It’s one of those moments the distance between them had managed to make Noel forget, one of those  _ the world’s stopped turning, but just for us _ moments that feels simultaneously overwhelming and calming. He’s trying not to think about it too hard, though, trying just to soak up the tranquility of the room, the stillness of the air between the two of them, no longer vibrating with tension and chaos. It’s different, and at one point he’d thought that they couldn’t make it work without the push-pull, that different equated to bad, but now, eyes half-lidded and gazing at his baby brother, grey where there used to be brown, lines where there used to be smoothness, he can’t help but think  _ maybe different always meant better.  _

If Liam’s noticed anything, he hasn’t shown it. He’s standing by the window in nothing but his boxers, smoking half-thoughtfully, half-carelessly, most of the way through his second fag. 

(“Dirty habit, that,” Noel had said disapprovingly, when Liam had stuck a fag in his mouth and fumbled around on the bedside table for a lighter. Liam had rolled his eyes, and when his hand had come back with the lighter, it had another fag in it, too. Some things never change.

He had gone and stood by the window without Noel asking, though. So some things do.) 

“Y’know, I read somewhere that you should fall in love with someone’s eyes because no matter how much they age, right, their eyes never change,” Liam says suddenly, into the content, post-coital silence of the room. Noel arches an eyebrow at him, knowing that even though Liam looks as though he’s gazing out of the window, he’s very much focused on Noel. Always is, isn’t he? Always is, always has been, always will be. One of the certainties Noel can build his life up around, the pillars on which he can rest himself; he’s a great fucking songwriter, he’s a massive cunt, and Liam’s obsessed with him. 

(And maybe that he’s hopelessly in love with his little brother, but that’s not so much a pillar of his life as it is its foundation.) 

“Oh aye?” he says, and Liam takes another drag of his fag as he nods, holding it in for a good ten seconds before exhaling and speaking again. 

“Yeah,” he says, electing to ignore the sarcasm saturating Noel’s tone. “And me and you have the same eyes, innit?” Noel snorts. 

“You fucking narcissist,” he says, but the words don’t have any of the bite they may have had ten, fifteen, twenty years ago. Instead, they come out vaguely fond. 

Liam takes another drag, stubs the cigarette out on the windowsill and flicks it out of the window, exhales heavily and then turns to Noel. Noel’s always been drawn to Liam’s lips when he’s speaking, following the shape and the curve of them and thinking of all the places that only he knows they’ve been, but now his eyes flick to Liam’s, drink in the exact blue hue of his irises that he knows nobody else in the world but him has, not even Paul. 

“Nah,” Liam says, blinking at Noel. Blue on blue, brother on brother. “‘S a reminder that we’re part of each other, innit? Fifty percent of you is me and you can’t never change that, no matter how many years you ignore me and call me a cunt in the press. You’ll always have my eyes.” 

Noel knows what he’s trying to say, in his own, weird little way. Liam’s always been obsessed with the idea that they’re brothers, always loved the idea that they’re intrinsically bound by their blood and DNA, irrevocably and forever entwined, something that Noel could never run from. And Noel might put up a good fight, might pull a face and say  _ Jesus, Liam, have some fucking decency _ when Liam mentions them being brothers while he’s about to suck Noel off, but they both know it’s just for show, know it from the way Noel’s cock will twitch in Liam’s hand and the way he’ll run a thumb across Liam’s lower lip. There’s something almost unbearably romantic about the idea that they  _ can’t _ ever escape each other, no matter how much they try, whether by fighting or running. Liam’s right; they’re inextricably bound, biology forging ties between them that no amount of fucking or fighting or running can ever break. Nothing can ever tear those double-helixes apart, restructure them so they aren’t half of each other. 

Noel’s eyes stay trained on Liam’s as he makes his way back to the bed, crawling back under the covers and shivering slightly. He presses against Noel automatically, trying to warm himself up, and for once Noel lets him, doesn’t complain about the fucking iciness of his fingers or his legs, doesn’t say  _ no, you filthy cunt, if you want to smoke you can deal with the consequences. _

Instead, as Liam blinks up at him with those blue eyes Noel knows all too well from his own bathroom mirror, legs threaded between Noel’s, Noel says:

“I think you’ll find you’ll always have mine.” 


End file.
